The Osterman Weekend: A Novel
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In Zurich . . . in Moscow . . . in Washington, D.C. . . . the machinery has already been set in motion. In a quiet suburb, an odd assortment of men and women gather for a momentous weekend. At stake is nothing less than the very existence of the United States of America—and, with it, the future of the entire free world.
Praise for Robert Ludlum and The Osterman Weekend
“Shattering . . . [The Osterman Weekend] will cost you the night and the cold hours of the morning.”—The Cincinnati Enquirer
“Ludlum stuffs more surprises into his novels than any other six-pack of thriller writers combined.”—The New York Times
“Powerhouse momentum . . . as shrill as the siren on the prowl car.”—Kirkus Reviews
“A complex scenario of inventive double-crossing.”—Chicago Sun-Times
blond man who spoke with such precision. With such relaxed confidence. “I don’t like to think you’re right.” Suddenly, Fassett crossed back to the table and turned off the tape recorder. The wheels stopped. “Why not? It’s not just the information uncovered—that could be relatively harmless—but the way it’s applied. Take you, for instance. Suppose, just suppose, a story based on occurrences around twenty some-odd years ago outside Los Angeles were printed in the Saddle Valley paper. Your children
muted Hollywood bell, had rung at least five times. Leila thought sleepily that it was foolish to have it on Bernie’s side of the bed. It never woke him, only her. She nudged her husband’s ribs with her elbow. “Darling.… Bernie. Bernie. It’s the phone.” “What?” Osterman opened his eyes, confused. “The phone? Oh, the Goddamn phone. Who can hear it?” He reached over in the darkness and found the thin cradle with his fingers. “Yes?… Yes, this is Bernard Osterman.… Long distance?” He covered the
reported that he went—probably staggered—to his room a little after midnight. We told him to pull out and pick Tremayne up again at seven. What’s bothering you?” “I’m not sure yet It’ll be clearer when we confirm Cardone’s situation.” “We did confirm it. He’s at home.” “We assume he’s at home because we haven’t had any reason to think otherwise up to now.” “You’d better explain that.” “The Cardones had dinner guests. Three couples. They all came together in a car with New York plates.
them with their bodies. “Ali, get them into the dining room! Stay on the floor!” commanded Tanner. “Bernie, you don’t have a gun, do you?” “Sorry, never owned one.” “Me either. Isn’t it funny? I’ve always disapproved of anyone buying a gun. So Goddamned primitive.” “What are we going to do?” Leila was trying to remain calm. “We’re going to get out of here,” answered Tanner. “The shots are from the woods. Whoever is firing doesn’t know whether we have weapons or not. He’s not going to shoot
objects, or a fisherman, conditioned by hauling in nets all day long. But your range of knowledge, I daresay your intellect, rules out such things.” “Why do I get the idea that you’re leading up to something? Something else.” “Because we’ve worked together, closely and under pressure, for several weeks now. You spot a pattern.” “I’m right then?” “Yes. I had to see how you’d accept what I’ve just told you. The previous surgery, the hair, the contact lenses.” “Did I pass?” “With infuriating